A Good Fag's Honour
by Ertal77
Summary: "Now are we going to start with physical punishments?" the German boy mumbled through gritted teeth. Weston School times.


Diedrich's life had been a nightmare for the whole last month. And it started from the exact moment he lost that stupid bet and he had become the new fag of Phantomhive. _Phantomhive's slave would be a more appropriate title_ , he thought somberly. The young earl was not being very kind to him, if truth be told, although Diedrich didn't expect otherwise. Phantomhive was insufferable: conceited, cunning, twisted even, asking from him always the most annoying tasks and the ones most difficult to fulfill. And if that wasn't enough, he did it with that sly smirk on his lips, mocking him.

The fact that Diedrich felt attracted to the insufferable prefect didn't help his situation in the least. Despite of how much Phantomhive irked and exasperated him, Diedrich's eyes would be helplessly attracted to the elegance of his features, to the slenderness of his neck and to his feline and elastic movements. Too often, to his embarrassment, Phantomhive would catch him staring with the corner of his eye; but even though he always expected a sarcastic remark that ought to make its appearance, Phantomhive just grinned at him with a mischievous glance. _Frigging show-off,_ he thought to himself, _I'm sure his ego inflates even more every time he catches me watching him_. But it couldn't be helped, as much as it mortified him. Every night, when he closed his eyes, he saw that long and slender neck leaning back while Phantomhive laughed, brushing his black hair away from his face. He could try to fight against the vision, imagine that it was a young girl's neck, but his mind eye came back again and again to focus on a very manly Adam's apple, trembling on that pale pillar. It was difficult to reconcile with the image of his fiancée, a shy girl with brownish hair and rosy cheeks, who could never even dream with having as many charms as Vincent Phantomhive. Diedrich rubbed his eyes with despair. His tutor had explained to him, back in Munich, before coming to England, about the flowers and the bees and, in a more prosaic way, about the changes his body was going to go through. And if having become a tall and sturdy young man was fine, Diedrich wished his tutor had been more explicit and had prepared him for the kind of hunger he was now suffering, so inappropriate and embarrassing.

"Ice cream? But we are in February right now, Phantomhive, be reasonable…"

The young earl shook his head, pretending to turn serious.

"You heard me: today I want ice cream for my tea time snack."

They were at the common room in Sapphire Owl, Phantomhive's House, and Diedrich was very aware of the amount of eyes and ears that didn't miss a single detail of their exchange. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction of having something to mock him about or talk about him at his back. His family was as good as theirs, his grades among the best ones in his classroom (although not as excellent as Phantomhive's, of course), and besides he excelled in sports. Why precisely he had to fall into the clutches of Phantomhive? Life was so unfair.

"You will agree with me it will be impossible to be sold or being made an ice cream in London in this time of the year."

Phantomhive's smile grew wider, giving him a Cheshire's cat look.

"Well, I will be magnanimous then and I'll be satisfied with just a sorbet. A lemon sorbet. Make it really sweet, alright? Really sweet and really cold."

And he stood up and stepped out of the common room before Diedrich could reply. The German boy stood right there, frozen on the spot, staring at the door through which the earl had left, feeling miserable. Aware of the glances he was receiving, he sighed and said to himself: _Okay, let's do this!_

He sent an errand boy to the usual confectionary shops, offering to pay double. Since he became that bastard's fag, the savings he had from his monthly pocket money had almost vanished. Even with that incentive, the errand boy came back empty-handed. Annoyed, Diedrich went down to the kitchen.

"I'm sorry, sir, there isn't material time to prepare a lemon sorbet for tea time", one of the cooks told him. "It's impossible. Besides, right now we are getting lunch ready and we are really busy, so I wouldn't be able to do it either."

"There's nothing impossible!" the German boy exclaimed, with a note of panic in his voice. _I'm not going to make it; this time I'm not going to make it and Phantomhive is going to look down on me with that disdainful smirk, and there's nothing worse in the world than that._ "I will do it! Do you have a recipe?"

The cook looked at him with a tad of pity, but nodded all the same. He searched in a cupboard and passed him a handwritten paper.

"Here you are, give it back when you are done. But I have already warned you that it's impossible to make it on time." Diedrich studied the recipe desperately. "You can use the kitchen if you wish, sir. But try not to disturb us while we cook."

The boy gathered all the ingredients and started to work. In the beginning it seemed easy: he only had to heat water with sugar to prepare a syrup, and squeeze lemons, sieving the juice afterwards and adding it to the syrup. Then adding an egg yolk and voilá! By the time he had finished, the cooks were already serving the dessert in the Great Dining Hall, and his wrist hurt from squeezing the lemons. The cook he was acquaintances with brought him a plate so he didn't miss lunch, and he watched the sorbet with a critical eye. It was, basically… a lemon juice with sugar.

"Fine. Now place it inside the icebox and keep adding ice every time the previous one melts."

Diedrich's smile drained from his face. The cook sighed.

"I'll tell the errand boy to go and buy ice several times until tea time. But that's the only thing I can do, sorry. No one remains here in the afternoon. I can keep an eye on the amount of ice until I leave, but when we finish cleaning the kitchen nobody will be here."

"It's alright, I'll do it, thank you very much!"

Diedrich gulped down his meal and ran up to his afternoon lessons. At the end of the first lesson, he went downstairs to the kitchen again, going down two steps at a time. Everything was clean, shimmering and empty. But the icebox with its bowl containing the sorbet was in plain sight, and there was an ice sack on the side. He threw away the melted ice and replaced it with solid ice. He stirred a bit the sorbet, that still looked like a lemon juice. Sighing, he left some coins beside the ice sack and ran back to class.

More or less in the middle of the next lesson, he excused himself saying he needed to go to the toilet and ran downstairs again. A new sack of ice had arrived, so he repeated the operation. The content of the bowl was still completely liquid. Diedrich groaned. There wasn't anything else he could do, so he came back to class.

When the bell rang, he was the first one going out and running to the kitchen. At that hour, almost all the fags went down to prepare tea and a snack for the student they were serving, so in some minutes the kitchen would be again in its rush hour. He repeated the process with the ice, while a cold sweat started to fall down his temples. The sorbet was still liquid. He waited ten minutes more, until around him there started to be a huge deal of tableware, spoons and teacakes movement. Finally, he poured the content of the bowl into a tall glass and placed it on a saucer, with a little spoon and a straw. He got rid of the remaining ice and cleaned the working surface. If minutes ago there were some icecaps floating on the liquid, during the moments he had needed to clean up they had disappeared again. But perhaps they had only been an optic illusion, prompted by his despair.

He went upstairs with the 'sorbet', right to Phantomhive's bedroom, he knocked the door and placed the glass in front of the English young man. The prefect cocked an eyebrow, took the spoon, put it inside the glass and filled it with liquid, just to let it drop afterwards with his eyes focused on Diedrich. His face said clearly: " _Are you kidding me?"_ and the German boy could feel his armpits disgustingly sweated. He gulped and waited until the other boy would speak. Phantomhive took the straw, inserted it in the drink and sipped all the liquid in seconds. After that, he wiped his mouth with elegance, using the napkin Diedrich had provided. He leaned back on his armchair, crossing his legs, and looked at his fag up and down, while he let go a dramatic sigh.

"Dee, you are a shame for every fag. All Weston would laugh at you if they knew you are not able to tell apart a lemonade from a lemon sorbet. Honestly, I didn't expect this from you."

Diedrich clenched his fists, feeling anger surpassing his previous nervousness. _The damn bastard knew it was impossible to obtain a sorbet on time…_ , he thought. _How does he dare?_ But, in truth, he had failed in a task that was supposed to be simple, so retorting to the student he served would only worsen his situation. The best in that case would be accepting a punishment and pretend the disaster had never happened. Hence, he remained silent, watching Phantomhive with his eyes casted down and trying to keep his anger under control.

"We'll have to think of a punishment that suits you", the earl smiled, almost sweetly. "I think I know what the punishment you deserve is… What do you think about spanking?"

Diedrich raised his head, outraged. A fag's punishment was usually an extra task; Diedrich was only expecting that Phantomhive ordered him to make his school tasks (which he rarely told him to do, since Phantomhive worked hard to keep his number one rank in the Blue House), or that he commanded the fag to mop the classrooms floor; something like that. He wasn't a little child to be forced to endure spanking.

"Now are we going to start with physical punishments?" the German boy mumbled through gritted teeth.

He knew his face was red as a tomato, but he felt too furious to care about his looks. Phantomhive looked back at him with a glance that hadn't an ounce of innocence, his sweet smile now turned into something completely different.

"You wouldn't do it? Seriously?"

 _What does it mean?_ Diedrich wondered, confused, unable to answer. Phantomhive sighed and got up from his armchair. He proceeded to take his school jacket off, then his vest and his tie, with quick and precise movements. Diedrich still didn't know how all of that would end. Was the prefect really getting ready to hit him? Perhaps he could report him later, but at that very moment… what should he do? Refuse and leave? Impose himself physically? He was much taller and broad-shouldered than Phantomhive, but refusing to receive a punishment was dishonour for a fag. He stood there, clenching his fists and following the sassy English earl with his eyes.

"I am sure, my dear _friend_ ," Phantomhive whispered, "that you would enjoy inflicting physical punishments." Diedrich opened his mouth to complain, but the earl raised his hand to shush him. "I don't want to hear your clumsy excuses, I know you better than you think, Dee. But, unlike you, I have never used physical force, so you will have to show me how you would apply some corrective spanks."

"Me?" Diedrich cried out, stupefied. _What is this guy saying, is he crazy?_

"Let's not lose more time, my club expects me in an hour."

Phantomhive unbuckled his belt and let his black flannel trousers drop down his legs. Diedrich gasped. The young English lord kneeled on the armchair, leaning over the back and raising his bum in the air in front of the stunned German teenager, who started shivering when Phantomhive pulled down his underwear with one hand, uncovering a pair of brief and round buttocks.

"How many hits do you think is the right amount?" Phantomhive commented in a casual voice, as if he was asking how many sugar cubes would someone like in their tea.

"Aaaaaah... I don't know. Ten?"

Diedrich couldn't take his eyes off those moons, so pale and perfect.

"Only ten? Wouldn't it be too indulgent with you? I think twenty will be better, don't you agree? Come on, then, ready when you are, show me how you would punish yourself."

 _Oh, my God, he is talking seriously..._ Diedrich looked around: the door was firmly closed, and the wardrobe, instead, was half-open, thereby the boy was certain that nobody was going to jump out yelling: "Gotcha!" No, they were alone, and Phantomhive wasn't prone to that kind of jokes, anyway. He wiped the sweated palms of his hands on his trousers and gave Phantomhive a test smack, without allowing himself even to feel the touch of that tempting bum.

"You must be kidding... My sister hit harder when she was five! Come on, do your best or they will have to be thirty as a retaliation!"

Diedrich nodded, although the other boy couldn't see him, braced to the armchair back as he was, and he wiped again the sweat of his hands. This time he took a breath and gave a respectable blow, a model spank worthy of that name, and now he could appreciate the smoothness of the skin, without a single imperfection, and the hardness of the flesh. He stared, gawking, at the mark of his hand appearing a second later on the right buttock, turning it red.

"That's better. But go on, don't stop now!"

Phantomhive's voice arrived somewhat breathless, but Diedrich didn't stop to wonder why, since he had decided the left buttock also needed the shape of his hand on it. He grinned at seeing it appear. The second and the third impact on each buttock heated the skin, and the marks of his hands joined and melted in an exquisite redness, through the span of the whole bottom. Diedrich felt himself turning more enthusiastic within the minute, and he feared he was hitting too strong, but Phantomhive didn't complain, and after the first ten spanks, following the loud slap, the only sound in the room besides Diedrich's hitched breathing was a weak groan by the English earl. Diedrich savoured every blow, adjusting them to his breathing, feeling every little contraction of the muscles under the hot skin and every arching movement in Phantomhive's back. To the end he could feel sweat falling freely down his temples, and he had the urge of taking some clothes off; but of course that would have been inappropriate. He would have to endure it until he came back to his own bedroom. But the skin of this whole body burned, as if it had been infected by that hard and juicy bottom, and he could feel his crotch painfully hard.

When he counted _"twenty"_ in his mind, he stepped back and inhaled slowly, trying to control his breathing. His eyes kept staring at his artwork. Phantomhive turned his face towards him and sat sideways on the armchair, covering himself with his shirt tails with modesty.

"Do you think you would have learned your lesson?" the earl said, and Diedrich noticed with amazement how neutral and completely under control his voice was. How did he do that? But a glance at Phantomhive's face told him the boy wasn't as unimpressed as he seemed: his brown eyes glowed, with dilated pupils, and a blush spread through his cheeks. "Would you add any other punishment?"

Diedrich felt his mouth dry all of a sudden, and his body heat worsened. He stuttered at answering:

"I would kneel and give you oral sex."

 _Oh my God, have I said that? I am as good as dead, that's taking this too far, Phantomhive is going to destroy me, he is going to smash me like a fly. He is going to get me expelled in disgrace for having a dirty mind..._

Phantomhive offered him a crooked grin, arching his eyebrows.

"In what world getting a blowjob is a punishment? You surely mean the opposite, isn't it? You would order _yourself_ to kneel in front of _me_ ", and here the English lord drop to his knees before Diedrich, "pull my trousers down this way, and suck me, right?"

"Ggnnn..."

The fag wasn't in the right conditions to answer, because after unbuckling and lowering his trousers, Phantomhive's tongue had started to lick the tip of his penis, softly, with tentative movements. Clumsy fingers pulled down his foreskin, freeing the head of his member, to lick it afterwards, and Diedrich moaned, feeling a careful exploration of his testicles. He could feel them fuller and heavier than ever before, and those fingers massaging them were wonderful.

"Would you command something else?" Phantomhive gasped, with a trickle of saliva running down his chin.

"That... that I put the whole of it inside my mouth", Diedrich whimpered.

The order was obeyed, and the German boy decided a lightning could strike him right then and there and he wouldn't care at the least. He patted the black hair of the prefect, amazed. _I can't believe this, this isn't happening..._ Suddenly, he felt a warmth increasing dizzily at his hips' height, and he pushed the boy's face away, pulling his hair. Phantomhive didn't complain, and he licked his lips with a smirk, looking at him, studying his reaction. Diedrich hadn't felt so embarrassed in his life.

"Sorry... it's just that I was going to..."

The young earl's smile grew wider and more cunning.

"Can you think of any other punishment? I don't think the lesson is engraved enough in you."

Diedrich gulped loudly, nervous and excited. _No. That's not possible. It isn't, right? Of course not, men don't do that._ But he allowed himself to look up and down the other boy, and there wasn't any doubt: what showed slightly under the shirt tails was an erection. A _serious_ erection. One that, it seemed, he wasn't allowed to suck, even if his mouth was watering. Then, the only other remaining thing was... that. _I can't say it._

"Say it already", Phantomhive demanded, as if he had read his thoughts.

"I would... I would stand against the wall..."

Phantomhive stood up and rested his back against a piece of free wall, between the wardrobe and the door.

"Like this?"

"No... Facing the wall."

The Englishman smiled and complied.

"Then I would tell myself to open my legs." He came closer to Phantomhive, who had parted his legs, and grabbed his hips, pulling the boy towards himself. The prefect gasped in surprise. Diedrich spat on his hand and searched between the flushed buttocks until he found the tiny hole. He rubbed it, breathing heavily, until it was drenched in saliva, and then he spat again on his hand and wrapped his member in saliva. "I would put my penis on my asshole, like this, and then I would push..." He pushed hard, but the entrance refused to open, and besides the saliva was starting to dry off. Too gone to even think of stopping at that point, Diedrich spat again, wetting thoroughly the head of his member, and pushed again. He could feel the resistance starting to yield, and when he looked down he saw the tip had entered. Excited, he pushed again, watching as Phantomhive's ass swallowed his member. "I would put it all inside, all the way in..."

A whine interrupted his enthusiasm, and at raising his eyes to Phantomhive's face he saw it was a contorted mask of pain, with gritting teeth, eyes tightly shut and a tear falling down his cheek. Terrified, Diedrich froze. _I'm an idiot... It was to expect that it would hurt! Why didn't I think of how painful it would be for him?_

"Keep on going, don't stop now", Phantomhive mumbled.

"But it hurts you!"

"Isn't it a punishment?"

And Phantomhive had the nerve of offering him a mocking smirk. Diedrich's answer was pulling out a bit and then ramming inside again. The English boy bit his lip to avoid yelling, barely succeeding.

"I would shove it inside again and again", Diedrich panted.

"Yes..." Phantomhive added, breathless. "I would thrust hard, thinking only of my own pleasure, without caring about if you cried or asked for mercy."

"I would never ask for mercy!" the German boy complained, punctuating his words with a jerk from another angle. "Aah! It's so tight!"

"I would destroy you with my cock, I would stick it in you until you thought you were going to split in half", Phantomhive continued, between moans. "I would bit your neck, hard, enough to leave a mark..."

The fag roared at hearing that, and rushed to devour the other teen's neck. He had daydreamt so many times with that neck... After biting it he licked and kissed it, and he ended burying his face on it, feeling again very close to orgasm. He inhaled the smell of his own saliva, and the light fruity scent from the hair that was tickling his face.

"Tell me what else..." he begged.

"I would... Ah! I would grab your cock, and I would pump it until you came", Phantomhive suggested, and Diedrich rushed to do that. "And I would thrust into you harder and faster, more, more!"

The fag complied with what was asked from him, and his orgasm, which had been threatening for a while with spilling, stumbled to the surface and flooded him for an instant, leaving him in a state in which he was only vaguely aware of the other boy or even of what he was doing. After those brief, but pretty intense, moments of pleasure, he realised the hand that was massaging Phantomhive's erection was covered in semen (and that said semen was dripping on the floor in a poorly attractive way), and that his hips and thighs were trembling. His penis was still inside of Phantomhive, and he wished he could stay there a bit longer, perhaps even until his member decided to awake and grow up again, but right then he felt the area unpleasantly wet. The English boy was trying to regain his breathing with his eyes shut and his forehead resting against the wall. His lower lip was raw red. Diedrich made a huge effort and pulled out from Phantomhive's ass. He made the other boy turn until he was facing him, and hugged him tightly.

"Now I have learnt my lesson", he whispered on his ear.

The earl laughed, relaxed, although he looked terrible: dishevelled hair, reddened eyes and traces of tears on his cheeks, that torn lip... Diedrich kissed the mole under his right eye, something he had always wanted to do, and caressed that face that he found handsome even in its current state of absolute chaos. _Perhaps even more handsome this way_ , he smiled to himself.

"I have to clean myself", Phantomhive said, putting a bit of distance between them.

Diedrich let him go, thinking that he should also get cleaned as soon as possible, and allowed his eyes to wander by the semi naked body of the one who was now his lover...

"Oh, my God!" he exclaimed, alarmed.

"What happens?"

"There's blood! I felt it wet before, but I thought it was just my semen, oh, my God!"

Phantomhive offered him a twisted and mischievous grin.

"My dear Dee... Don't worry about that."

"But...!"

"I've said not to worry." The young earl came closer and placed a brief and gentle kiss on his lips. "What must worry you is fulfilling your obligations as a fag accordingly."

Diedrich gulped. _I'm still just his fag, of course... It can't be any other way; the two of us are engaged after all._

"Remember," Phantomhive purred in his ear, "that you promised to be my fag... without an expiration date. And I don't intend to let you go. Ever. You will be my fag forever."

The German boy nodded, very serious, and felt in part happy. Another part of him thought, with a thread of panic, that he had signed for a life sentence.

 _ **A month later**_

Diedrich knocked on Phantomhive's door and pushed it open without waiting for an answer. After all, he was loaded with a full tea set on its tray (teapot, sugar bowl, milk jug, cup and saucer, and a portion of chocolate sponge). It was a fair weight. He closed the door behind him with his foot, searched the room with his eyes for an available surface to set the tray... and he almost drop it at the sight that greeted him.

Phantomhive was kneeling on his bed, wearing only his school shirt, unbuttoned, and he was blindfolded with a black scarf and had his wrists tied in a thick lace, from his dressing gown, perhaps. He smiled with his usual mocking grin.

"Ah, Dee, you took your time... You see, now that I have gotten used to you fucking my body and it doesn't hurt any more... I've thought that we could try other things."

Diedrich growled plaintively. _Damned pervert brat_ , he thought, placing the tray on the desk with care and throwing himself on the bed.


End file.
